


Long Distance Dadding

by whumphoarder



Series: Adventures at the Stark Lake House [3]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Appendicitis, Babysitting, Everybody Lives, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Happy Hogan is a Good Bro, Hospitals, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Irondad, Not Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Compliant, Parent Tony Stark, Pepper Potts Is a Good Bro, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter Parker Whump, Precious Morgan Stark (Marvel Cinematic Universe), Sick Peter Parker, Sickfic, Stark Lake House, Stomach Ache, Surgery, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Vomiting, Whump, ironfam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-05
Updated: 2019-12-05
Packaged: 2021-02-26 23:46:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21677611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whumphoarder/pseuds/whumphoarder
Summary: “Uh…” Morgan hesitates. “Peter can’t come to the phone right now.”Tony frowns. “Why’s that?”“He’s throwing up,” she says simply.“Morgan!” he hears Peter groan irritably in the background.“What?” she demands, speaking away from the phone now. “You told me to talk to him for you, so I am.”Or: Peter gets sick while babysitting Morgan at the lake house and Tony is a Worried Dad™ about it.
Relationships: Peter Parker & Morgan Stark (Marvel Cinematic Universe), Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Series: Adventures at the Stark Lake House [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1614073
Comments: 183
Kudos: 1900
Collections: IronDad (and his Spiderson)





	Long Distance Dadding

**Author's Note:**

> (This story is set about a year and a half after the snap's reversal. Peter is 18 and in college and Morgan is 6)
> 
> Mega thanks to [xxx-cat-xxx](https://xxx-cat-xxx.tumblr.com/) and [sallyidss](https://sallyidss.tumblr.com/) for beta reading and ideas <3

The trouble with saving the world from the largest global disaster to date, Tony finds, is that no one ever shuts up about it.

“Okay, not to sound like an ass or anything...” Tony begins, already eliciting an eye-roll from his wife, “but I’ve already been given a Nobel Peace Prize, the Congressional Medal of Honor, three Victoria Crosses—British, Australian, _and_ Canadian—a Russian Gold Star, a Chinese Hero's Medal, the Gold Cross of Zimbabwe, and about twelve other various countries’ awards. Why do I need to go to _Morocco_ of all places now?”

“Because they built you a _monument,_ Tony,” Pepper explains for the third time, her tone a bit exasperated. “There’s a two-hundred foot tall statue of you in their capital city, waiting to be ceremoniously revealed.”

Raising his hands to chest height, Tony wiggles his fingers—both the flesh and prosthetic ones—in a jazz hand gesture. “Oooh...a statue,” he mocks. “I’m titillated.”

Pepper snorts. “You’d better have mustered up some titillation by the time you shake hands with the Moroccan Prime Minister this weekend.”

 _“This weekend?”_ Tony balks. “We can’t go this weekend. Morgan’s got her… uh…”—he flaps his hand, trying to recall just what tedious elementary school obligation the first-grader has coming up next—“her snowman... ball… thingy.”

Pepper raises an eyebrow in amusement. “You mean the ‘Seasonal Snowflake Sing-along’?”

His face lights up and he snaps his fingers in recognition. “That’s the one!”

“Well, you’re in luck,” she laughs sardonically. “Earlier today, Morgan’s teacher called to let me know that our daughter has flat-out _refused_ to participate this year. Something about itchy costumes, boring songs, and ‘child talent exploitation’—did you teach her that term by the way? Because _I_ certainly didn’t and Ms. Sanchez was pretty ruffled about it.”

Tony has to bite the inside of his mouth to keep the grin from spreading across his lips. He shrugs innocently. “You know, it’s important to start building a child’s vocabulary as early as possible. All the experts agree.” 

Pepper heaves out a deep sigh, but Tony can see the smile in her eyes. She leans in and pecks his cheek with a kiss. “Go pack for Morocco, Tony. Peter already agreed to babysit. And besides”—she whispers the next part in his ear, her fingers trailing over the collar of his shirt—“I don’t know about you, but I think we could do with a weekend to ourselves…”

“Well…” Tony clears his throat, feeling himself melting under her touch. “You always did know how to make a compelling argument, Ms. Potts.”

**X**

“So, Morocco, huh?” Peter says with a grin as he loads his duffle bag into the backseat of the car. Tony’s parked in the loading zone just outside of Peter’s residence hall at MIT that Thursday evening. “What’s going on over there?”

“Just another stupid award ceremony,” Tony grumbles. He moves back around to the driver’s side. “Gonna cut a big red ribbon, shake metal hands with some dignitaries, attend a couple of fancy banquets, yada yada…”

Breathing out a short laugh, Peter plops down into the passenger seat. He looks a bit haggard, though Tony can’t blame him; the first semester of college is always rough. Hopefully the long-weekend away will help. 

Throughout the four-hour drive to the lake house, they chat about Peter’s classes (“You know, they told us in high school that college was going to be so much stricter, Mr. Stark, but there was literally a kid in my English class who started making grilled cheese sandwiches on a hotplate and selling them during the lecture and the professor bought one”), the new people he’s been meeting (“Pretty sure my roommate is in a cult, actually...”), and extracurricular activities (“Did you know if you take fencing, archery, pistol shooting, and sailing, you can become a certified pirate?”). Eventually, they run out of things to catch up on and Peter starts looking drowsy, so Tony turns on the radio for some background music and they continue on like that for a while.

Three hours in, Tony’s forced to stop for gas. Peter is sleeping soundly, curled up in his hoodie for the whole time it takes to fill the car. For a moment, Tony’s tempted to just let him be, but given that this will likely be their last opportunity for a break until they’re home he ultimately decides against it.

“Hey Pete?” Tony says, shaking the kid’s shoulder a bit to rouse him. “Did you wanna stretch your legs or anything?”

Peter blinks awake and shifts to sit up straighter with a small groan. “How far are we?” he mutters.

“Another hour at least, but I thought we might get some late dinner too,” Tony replies. “There’s an Arby’s right across the street.”

Peter’s face screws up into a grimace. “Ugh, Arby’s is the worst. It’s like, a wad of salty meat on a bun.”

“But _with sauce,”_ Tony points out. Seeing Peter’s expression doesn’t change, he amends, “Alright no Arby’s. McDonald’s? They’ve got a new McFlurry flavor for the holidays I think.”

Peter gives a tired shrug, then curls back up against the window. “You can just get something for yourself. I’m not very hungry.”

Tony eyes him suspiciously. “Who are you and what have you done to Peter?”

“Hilarious, Mr. Stark,” Peter deadpans. Then, after a moment, he admits, “My stomach’s kinda hurting.”

Tony’s brow furrows. “Yeah?”

Rubbing at his gut one-handedly, Peter nods. “Yeah, since lunch. Probably shouldn’t have tried convenience store sushi...”

Tony snorts a bit. “Well, they do say a key part of college is experimentation and learning from your mistakes.” 

Peter huffs out a laugh. “Awesome. Maybe I’ll join Martin’s cult next.”

**X**

They make it the rest of the way to the lake house without incident. Morgan’s already asleep, so Peter hangs out in the kitchen chatting with Tony and Pepper for a bit before turning in to the guest bedroom for the night.

Peter seems fine the next morning, if a little groggy. Their flight to Morocco leaves at 6:30, but both kids are up at stupid o’clock in the morning to send them off.

“You’re sure you don’t wanna go to your concert thing tonight?” Tony tries one last time as he encircles Morgan in both his flesh and prosthetic arms for a goodbye hug.

She shakes her head firmly. “Every time we practice Jingle Bells, Keegan makes farting noises with his mouth and the vein in Ms. Sanchez’s neck gets really big and red,” she says. “Peter’s more fun.”

“Yeah, probably,” Tony agrees. He pecks her on the cheek before turning to Peter, who’s blinking tiredly and sipping at a mug of coffee as he leans against the kitchen island. “Now, are you sure you’re up for a whole weekend of _this?”_ He gestures to the energetic six-year-old in front of him.

“I think we’ll manage,” Peter says with a small smile. “If she gets too crazy, I’ll just web her to the wall.”

“Hey!” Morgan complains, and Peter sticks his tongue out at her in return. 

Tony chuckles. “Sure, do what you gotta do,” he allows. “Just don’t get it in her hair—hate to have to cut it off. The Valentine’s Day sing-along is up next.”

“Uuuuggghh,” Morgan groans dramatically.

**X**

Despite all of Tony’s protests, he has to admit that Morocco is pretty gorgeous. There are definitely worse places to be honored with a gigantic statue.

“I’m just saying, I think the chin was too big,” Tony complains as they make their way back to their hotel room following the ceremony that evening.

Huffing out a little laugh, Pepper shakes her head. “I’m sure they did their best, Tony.”

“But of all the things to get wrong, why’d it have to be the _chin?”_ he goes on, though there’s no real heat there. “I mean, c’mon, this whole thing is about the defeat of Mr. Purple Ballsack Face—they could have a bit more sensitivity…”

While Pepper heads off to the shower, Tony glances at his watch. It’s just after one a.m. Moroccan time, meaning Peter and Morgan are probably finishing up dinner back at home. He figures that’s as good a time as any to check in, so he calls Peter’s phone.

Four rings later, a small voice that definitely doesn’t belong to the teenager answers the call. “Hello?”

Tony frowns. “Morgan?”

“Oh! Hi Daddy,” Morgan greets, her tone going much brighter. “How’s your trip going? Do you like maracas?”

Tony chuckles a bit. “Sweetheart, I keep telling you, Mommy and I are in _Morocco._ A maraca is a musical instrument that you shake to make noise.”

“Can you buy me one?”

“One of what?”

She giggles. “A maraca!”

“No, honey, listen to me.” Tony runs a hand over his face. Maybe Pepper was right about the whole needing a vacation thing after all. “Maracas are not Moroccan. They don’t make them here. It’s a totally different thing.”

“Oh.” There’s a beat. “Can you buy me one anyway?”

“I don’t know—we’ll see,” Tony says, shaking his head slowly. “Hey, can I talk to Peter for a sec?”

“Uh…” Morgan hesitates. “Peter can’t come to the phone right now.”

Tony frowns. “Why’s that?”

“He’s throwing up,” she says simply.

 _“Morgan!”_ he hears Peter groan irritably in the background.

 _“What?”_ she demands, speaking away from the phone now. _“You told me to talk to him for you, so I am.”_

 _“But you weren’t supposed to tell—”_ Peter’s voice is cut off by the sound of retching, followed by the faint sound of liquid splashing.

Tony pinches the bridge of his nose. “Why is Peter throwing up?”

“He’s sick,” Morgan reports. “We were playing before, but then he said he didn’t feel good and his stomach hurt so we were just watching Wreck-It Ralph for a while. Then I said I wanted taquitos for dinner and he threw up on my Elsa blanket. It was really gross. But he said he was sorry, so I told him it was okay.” She pauses her rambling for a second. “We can wash it, right Daddy? Like that time I spilled all the yogurt on it?”

“Yeah, I’m sure the blanket will be fine,” Tony says absently. He’s already scrolling through his calendar app to figure out just how many Moroccan obligations they have left to attend. “Can you give the phone to Peter now, please?” he requests. “And then go to the kitchen and see if you can find him a can of Sprite, okay? Maybe some crackers too.”

“Yeah, okay,” Morgan agrees.

He hears shuffling over the line, which he assumes is the phone being passed between them, immediately followed by the sound of Morgan’s footsteps hurrying out of the room. A second later, Peter’s voice croaks, “Sorry, ’m fine, Mr. Stark. And Morgan was watching another movie. Got everything…“—he swallows hard—“handled.”

Tony rolls his eyes. “Very convincing. I’m sure Elsa agrees.”

“Elsa had it coming, honestly,” Peter grouses. “Those songs always get stuck... stuck in my—” He burps sickly, and then Tony hears the phone clatter onto the tile followed by more muffled retching and splashing noises.

Tony sighs deeply, running a hand over his face. So much for vacation. He fires off a quick text to Happy: _Hey, you busy tonight?_

As Peter continues to retch, three dots appear on the screen indicating Happy is typing. _Are you in a foreign prison again?_

 _For the last time, Slovakia was not my fault,_ Tony retorts. 

A second later Happy texts: _Keep telling yourself that._

Tony hears the toilet flush and the sound of the phone being picked up again. Peter’s voice, shakier now, comes back over the line, “Uh… you still there?”

“Of course. Wouldn’t miss it,” Tony says briskly. “Bathrooms have the best acoustics, you know.”

“That’s really gross...” Peter mutters.

“I don’t think you’re in a position to talk about gross right now, puke-boy,” Tony retorts as he fires off another text to Happy: _Got a situation. How soon can you get to the lake house?_

Happy’s reply comes a few seconds later: _I’m watching Iron Chef America and doing laundry, Tony. It’s my day off._

Tony counters with, _The kids are home alone and Peter just decided to reenact The Exorcist_

The three dots appear, then disappear. Then they appear again a moment later, followed by a message: _I can be there in 2 hours_

 _You’re the best, boo <3, _Tony shoots back. To Peter he informs, “Happy’s on his way.”

“He doesn’t have to,” Peter protests. “It’s just food poisoning or something…”

Tony scoffs. “Well, either way, someone who isn’t busy puking should probably be keeping an eye on the little troublemaker.” He pauses for a beat. “And Morgan too.”

Peter just groans.

In the background, Tony hears the telltale pattering of small feet on the tile. _“I couldn’t reach the crackers, so I got you Doritos!”_ she announces.

Peter’s voice is hesitant. _“Oh. Uh… thanks_.”

There’s the sound of a crinkling bag moving closer to the phone. _“They’re Cool Ranch flavor!”_

Immediately, Peter starts gagging again. 

Tony heaves out a sigh. It’s gonna be a long night.

**X**

After filling his wife in on the developments back on the home front (and being assured by Happy that he was keeping tabs on the situation as he made his way to the lake house), both Tony and Pepper decide they should try to get some shut-eye before their packed day tomorrow.

Pepper falls asleep straight away, clearly exhausted from their full day of travel and social obligations, but Tony finds himself tossing and turning on the overly-soft hotel mattress. It’s not until Happy texts that he’s safely arrived at the lake house to assume his uncle duties that Tony finally manages to drift off.

It doesn’t last long.

It’s barely 4:30 in the morning when Tony’s roused from his sleep by his phone vibrating under the pillow. He pulls the device out to see a message from Happy:

_Kid’s had his appendix out already, right?_

Being mindful of his sleeping wife beside him, Tony holds the phone just inside the duvet to shield the glowing screen from waking her. _Yeah, before the snap, when he was 16,_ he replies, his mind going back to Halloween night seven years ago. A frantic and babbling Ned somehow managed to hack into Karen’s communication systems to inform Tony that Peter was more or less dying on the bathroom floor. An emergency surgery later, Peter’s been one appendix lighter ever since.

 _Why?_ Tony adds. _Is it that bad?_

 _Nah, just checking,_ Happy says. _He says he’s alright but he’s running a fever and his stomach’s hurting a lot_

Tony frowns. _How high’s the fever?_

_Not very high. 100.9. It’s probably just a bug then_

_Yeah, probably,_ Tony agrees, despite the nagging worry in his gut. _How’s Morgan taking it?_

 _Just put her to bed,_ Happy reports. _She kept trying to bring Peter juice pops until he finally ate one. Puked it up again ten minutes later. Don’t think nursing is her calling in life_

Tony huffs out a short laugh as he types: _Nope_

Happy follows up with: _Alright, I think I’ll try to get Sir Barfs-a-lot to bed now_

 _Godspeed, Hap,_ Tony replies. 

Then he slides the phone back under his pillow, pulls the covers up around his chin, and doesn’t sleep a wink.

**X**

“Look, I don’t like this situation any more than you do, but we can’t just bail on six dignitaries, Tony,” Pepper says in exasperation. She’s standing in front of the bathroom vanity, door ajar as she finishes straightening her hair. “We have two meetings this morning and a luncheon scheduled with the royal family at two.” 

Tony runs a hand through his hair. “I know, I know…” he sighs. “I’m probably overreacting, it’s just…” he trails off.

It’s eight o’clock now, meaning the time is currently two a.m. back in New York. According to Happy’s last text, Peter managed to make it to bed around midnight and though he was still in a fair amount of pain, he hadn’t vomited for a few hours. Objectively, Happy did seem to have everything pretty well handled, but Tony still can’t shake the feeling that this might be something more than a virus.

Returning the sigh, Pepper unplugs the flat iron and sets it on the counter before walking over. “It’s just that your kid is sick, so you’re gonna be a worried dad about it anyway,” she concludes for him. “Am I right?”

“Guilty.” Tony gives her a sheepish smile. “Guess I’m getting soft in my old age...”

Pepper wraps her arms around him, pulling him close, and plants a gentle kiss to his lips. “Yeah, you are,” she agrees. “But don’t change. It’s a good look on you.” 

They kiss for another few seconds before Pepper pulls back. “Well, the good news is, I’ve gotten quite good over the years at attending social obligations in your stead.” She gives his shoulders a squeeze. “You go do what you gotta do.”

**X**

With Pepper’s blessing, Tony leaves the jet and most of his luggage at the hotel with her, opting to just fly home in the Iron Man suit instead. It’s partly to ensure Pepper has a ride home in place, and partly so that he can shave an hour or two off the flight time. Even then, it’ll be a good five hours before he’s back, which gives him more than enough time to stress.

Sometime around the half-way point, Tony is soaring over the Atlantic when FRIDAY interrupts his thoughts. “Boss, you have an incoming call from Happy Hogan.”

“Put him through,” Tony says immediately.

A second later, Happy’s gruff voice comes over the speakers. “Got any extra sheets somewhere?” he says by way of greeting.

Tony grimaces. “So it’s one of those nights, huh?”

“Oh yeah, we’re having a blast,” Happy grumbles tiredly. His voice has a slight echo to it, indicating he’s in the bathroom. “Kid’s also wearing a pair of your pajamas now—hope you’re not too attached because the way this night’s been going, I foresee more casualties.”

Worriedly, Tony diverts more power to his thrusters. “The linen closet is in the hall by the master bedroom—should be some extra sheets in there,” he informs. “How’s his fever?”

“Holding steady around 101. He looks pretty miserable though.”

“Can I talk to him?”

“Hang on.”

There’s some movement and a few muffled words from Happy’s end before Peter’s voice rasps out a very pathetic sounding, “Yeah?”

Tony winces in sympathy. “Yikes, kid...” he says as lightly as he can manage. 

“I threw up in bed,” Peter admits, his voice thick. “’m really sorry. I was tryin’ to get up, but moving made my stomach hurt more and then I just…” He trials off, sniffling slightly. “And now Happy says you’re flying home early and, and... I’m just really, really sorry.”

“Hey, hey,” Tony interrupts over the kid’s emotional rambling. “It happens, no big deal, okay? And honestly, Pepper’s much better at the whole decorum thing than I am, so the Moroccan royal family is better off with her anyway.”

A small, dismayed noise issues from Peter’s throat. “The _royal family?_ ” he whines. _“Mr. Stark…”_

“It’s just fancy tea with old people,” Tony assures. “Boring as hell, I promise. You’re doing me a favor.”

 _“God._ I’ve gotta be the worst babysitter _ever,”_ Peter moans sadly. “Zero stars on Yelp. You should give Happy my fifteen bucks an hour...”

Tony huffs out a single laugh. “Don’t worry, we’ll get him a nice fruit basket when this is over. Chocolate covered strawberries and all that.”

Over the line, Tony can hear heavy footsteps on the tile. _“Sheets are changed,”_ Happy says, his voice muffled.

 _“Thanks,”_ Peter croaks back. Into the phone, he says, “Um, I’m gonna go back to bed now.”

Tony hums in affirmation. “That’s good. Try and sleep, alright?”

“‘Kay,” Peter says. Then, in a very small voice, he adds, “Uh...I’m really glad you’re coming home, Mr. Stark.”

Tony’s heart aches. “Yeah. I am too, kid,” he says softly. 

**X**

By the time Tony’s boots touch down in the yard, the sun has just come up over the lake house, clearing the early morning fog. He retracts his armor and heads into the house, legs wobbly from the lengthy flight.

He finds Morgan and Happy sitting at the kitchen table, eating breakfast. The six-year-old immediately jumps up to greet him.

“Daddy!” she exclaims, racing over. Tony stoops down and wraps his arms around her, pulling her into a hug.

“Hey pumpkin,” he greets, planting a kiss on her forehead. “You’re up early.”

She shrugs. “I didn’t wanna sleep anymore. I wanted to see if Peter was better.”

“Is he?” Tony asks.

Morgan shrugs again. “I dunno, he was sleeping and Uncle Happy said I couldn’t wake him up ‘cus he’s sick. So we were gonna make pancakes, but Uncle Happy couldn’t find the pancake flipper,” she says with a pout. “So he was gonna use a fork. But then he dropped the eggs on the floor and they got broken and he said a bad word and now we’re eating cereal instead.”

His eyes flick up to Happy, who’s finishing off a bowl of raisin bran and looking at least as exhausted as Tony feels.

Since Peter is still sleeping, Happy and Morgan head out to feed Gerald and run some errands while Tony heads to his own room for a quick shower and change of clothes. Once he’s done, he pours himself a cup of coffee and heads to the guest room where he finds Peter curled up in bed, a lined trash can beside him. 

“Aw, kid…” Tony breathes out as he approaches the bed. Even in his sleep, Peter’s brow is beaded with sweat and his face is pinched in pain. 

He straightens out the kid’s covers and watches him for a few moments, taking in the rise and fall of his chest and his fever-flushed cheeks before sinking down into an armchair beside the bed. 

Only a few minutes into his silent vigil, the combination of jet lag and sleepless nights catches up with him and Tony finds himself nodding off.

**X**

It’s the sound of whimpering that pulls Tony from his sleep thirty minutes later. His eyelids flutter open to see Peter curled up on the bed, arms circled around his stomach and eyes red and wet with tears.

“Whoa, whoa, hey,” Tony says in alarm. He quickly moves over to sit on the edge of Peter’s mattress, a hand on the kid’s shoulder, but the movement of the bed only makes Peter moan. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“Stomach r-really hurts,” Peter manages to choke out. “‘S like, stabbing me.”

A fresh wave of worry washes over Tony. “Where does it hurt?” he asks. Cautiously, Peter hovers a hand over his lower right side, causing Tony’s eyes to widen. “Kid...” he begins. 

“But-But it can’t be that!” Peter protests. “I already had it out. It’s gone, it’s—” He cuts himself off with a groan, squeezing his eyes shut.

“Does it feel like it though?” Tony presses. “Like your appendix did?”

Without opening his eyes, Peter nods hesitantly. “Yeah, exactly like that. But it can’t be,” he insists, sounding like he’s trying to convince himself as much as his mentor. “It’s gone.”

“True, but you’ve got plenty of other organs in there that could be going haywire,” Tony points out. He makes a beckoning gesture at Peter’s stomach. “Let me see.”

Reluctantly, Peter lifts the hem of his shirt up to expose his abdomen. His lower belly appears slightly swollen and the skin is flushed a light pink. As carefully as he can manage, Tony presses his fingertips to a spot about four inches down diagonally to the right of the kid’s navel. 

Peter instantly gasps. He clamps a hand around Tony’s wrist, startling him. “Stop, stop, please,” he begs.

“Okay, okay,” Tony says, quickly releasing the pressure. But rather than relieving the pain, Peter cries out and curls even more into himself.

“That’s it—we’re going to the hospital,” Tony decides, already pulling out his phone to fire off a text to Happy. “Appendix or not, this is obviously _something.”_

Tellingly, Peter doesn’t argue. He just squeezes his eyes shut and gives a teary nod.

It takes a few minutes just to get the kid to uncurl enough to sit up, and then once he is up, he’s so nauseous that it’s another several minutes of hanging over the trash can and swallowing convulsively before he manages to get to his feet. The walk to the car is slow and shaky, with Tony bearing most of his weight. Thankfully, they’re less than half an hour from the lake house to the nearest SHIELD base, and they are equipped with a full Medical facility—something that definitely factored into Tony’s decision to purchase this particular property. 

(Retired or not, he’s still a goddamn worrywart.)

Peter is lying curled up in the backseat, and Tony keeps stealing glances at him through the rearview mirror. The kid whimpers quietly with each bump in the road and every turn elicits a low moan.

“Almost there, kiddo,” Tony promises him. “Just fifteen more minutes.”

But only three minutes later, he hears Peter inhale a sharp breath, then suddenly go quiet. 

“Pete? Still with me?” Tony asks worriedly, glancing up at the mirror. He’s half-expecting to see that the kid’s passed out, but instead finds Peter looking infinitely less tense than he did a moment ago.

“Yeah,” Peter breathes out. “It just hurt really bad for a second, but then it stopped hurting? Not all the way, but it’s a lot better now. Like, _a lot_ better.”

Tony’s heart drops as one thought screams in his mind: _something fucking ruptured._

“That’s, uh… that’s good Peter,” he says shakily as he presses the gas pedal to the floor. “Just hang in there, okay?”

**X**

A gurney is waiting for Peter outside when they pull into the SHIELD base and he is immediately rushed to an examination room. But when the test results are inconclusive and his fever spikes to nearly 104, the doctors decide that exploratory surgery is their best bet to figure out what’s going on.

Tony spends most of the next three hours in the waiting room on his phone. First, he manages to get a hold of May in the middle of her shift. He gives her the lowdown while simultaneously sending a wildly expensive Uber to pick her up and drive her to the base.

Next, he calls Happy, who is currently at an indoor butterfly farm with his awe-struck niece. _“Fucking knew something was wrong,”_ Happy sighs in response when Tony tells him. 

Morgan talks to him for a few minutes, expressing both her heartfelt concern for Peter and the overwhelming joy she experienced when a very pretty purple butterfly landed on her arm a few minutes ago. 

Tony can’t help but love her for it. Morgan might come across calloused or unfazed at times, but between the blip’s reversal, the defeat of Thanos, and seeing her dad’s long and arduous recovery process following the loss of his arm, she’s lived through more trauma in her six years than most people do in several decades. He’s glad that she’s usually able to find happiness regardless.

It’s around that time that Tony’s adrenaline fades enough for him to realize just how much his wrist is aching from where Peter grabbed it and rolls up his sleeve to reveal purple bruises. He’s pretty sure nothing is broken, but quietly gets an ice pack from the nurse anyway to press to the injury, sick at the thought of how much Peter had to be hurting to do that.

Tony calls Pepper—who has just finished up her royal luncheon—and finally lets himself fluster out properly.

She manages to talk him down from the panic attack that’s threatening to overtake him just in time for the doors leading back into the OR to swing open and Bruce to emerge.

“I’ll call you back, Pep,” Tony ends the call abruptly. Then hurries over to his friend, stomach in knots. “How’d it go? Is he alright?” he asks anxiously.

Holding up a hand, Bruce clears his throat, a little awkwardly. “Okay, first of all, I’d just like to say that the surgeons are just finishing up and Peter is, for the most part, fine.”

Tony instantly breathes out a huge sigh of relief. “Thank god…”

“But, uh, for the second thing...” Bruce goes on, gesturing to one of the waiting room chairs. “You might want to sit down.”

**X**

_“It grew back?!”_ Peter balks at them.

It’s been about five hours since his surgery now and the kid is finally lucid enough to take part in the absurd medical conversation surrounding his unprecedented case. Bruce, Tony, and May attempted to explain the situation earlier, but Peter hadn’t been able to keep up and ended up nodding off straight into his jello cup, so they’re on round two now.

“Well… sort of,” Bruce explains, adjusting his glasses. “When you got un-blipped, your cells were reconstructed, same as everyone else who came back. But since your mutated DNA regenerates your cells at an expedited rate, they somehow took that process a step further and managed to restore your body to, uh…” He flaps a hand, searching for the correct term.

“...to factory settings,” Tony finishes for him. He huffs humorously. “Congrats, kid. You’ve gotta be the only person in history to have their appendix burst _twice_.”

Peter groans. “Awesome. Parker Luck strikes again...” 

May tuts and hits his shoulder playfully.

“You’ll be on heavy antibiotics for a while,” Bruce continues. “Luckily, the rupture occurred very close to the time of your surgery, so peritonitis didn’t have time to set in yet. The surgeons flushed out your abdominal cavity as best they could and hopefully the combination of the medication and your enhanced healing will be enough to prevent another infection.”

“So don’t jinx it,” May concludes firmly. She ruffles her nephew’s curls.

Morgan and Happy appear in the doorway a few moments later. Tony gets up, ready to remind the little girl that she needs to be gentle with Peter since he’s still recovering, but it seems as though Happy’s already given her that talk because rather than bounding over, she tiptoes into the room, arms held behind her back.

“Hi Peter,” Morgan greets. “Does your tummy feel better now?”

“Yeah, a lot,” Peter assures her with a small smile. “Thanks.”

“Good.” From behind her back, she produces a colorful wooden instrument and shakes it. “Uncle Happy and I bought you a Morocco!”

Running a hand over his face, Tony lets out a long sigh. 

God, he loves these kids.

**Author's Note:**

> If you're interested in reading the full story of the first time Peter's appendix ruptured, check out my previous work: [Ned the Dumbwaiter](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16211420)
> 
> Or, for more sick Peter at the lake house with Tony and Morgan, try: [Dad Level: 3000](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18926560)
> 
> Comments make my day! Please consider leaving one below <3  
> Come and hang out on tumblr if you'd like! My url is [whumphoarder](https://whumphoarder.tumblr.com/)


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